Page 39 of Shadowed Hearts: Frost (Nightfall Syndicate #2)

Miguel gestures toward the kitchen. "Want to help bring out more lumpia? Mom made enough to feed an army."

I nod, recognizing the pretext. The kitchen offers better strategic positioning—clearer sight lines, fewer people, controlled entry points.

"So," Miguel starts once we're alone, keeping his voice low as he opens the oven. "Military or private security?"

I arrange spring rolls on a serving plate, measuring exact distances between each. "Security consulting."

"Thought so." He nods. "The way you position yourself between Nessa and the door. Very distinctive training patterns."

"Hard habits to break," I admit, choosing my words carefully.

Miguel's eyes narrow slightly as he checks we're still alone. "I've been treating some women at the ER. Young, disoriented, with unusual medical signs. IV marks, identical placement on each victim."

My fingers pause on the plate. The information clicks into place like assembling a rifle.

"All share the same needle pattern and identical drug mixtures in their blood," he continues. "Custom sedative combinations I rarely see. Restraint marks on their wrists and ankles, but neat and calculated."

"Human trafficking," I state, not a question.

Miguel nods. "That's my guess. These aren't typical overdoses. Someone with medical training is handling these women."

I keep my expression neutral while my mind races, connecting this to Tatiana Ivanov and the Vertex operation.

"Speaking of precision," Miguel adds, "had an interesting patient last month. Security type, like you. Had distinctive defensive knife wounds. Said his attacker was 'an elegant British man with surgical precision.'"

My heartbeat quickens, even as my breath remains steady and controlled. Markus Steele. The British operative who Kade eliminated after connecting him to Jenny's murder. If he had associates still operating...

"I could get you anonymized medical reports," Miguel offers, opening a cabinet. "Might help identify victims in similar situations."

"That would be useful." I position myself to block his view from the dining room. "Any unknown drugs in the tests?"

"Several. Custom pharmaceuticals not in standard databases."

"Miguel," I say quietly, "you mentioned these cases to Vanessa before, didn't you?"

He nods, then his expression darkens. "She's been asking me for updates every few days since I first told her. Wants to know if I've seen more victims, what their conditions were." He pauses. "My sister goes all in on everything. She's already trying to find patterns in the cases I mentioned."

I understand his concern immediately. Vanessa's protective instincts combined with her technical skills make her dangerous to ignore any injustice she discovers.

"She's been cross-referencing medical databases, hasn't she?" I ask.

"Probably. That's why I wanted to talk to you directly. If there's more to this than random trafficking..." He trails off, studying my expression. "You're not just doing corporate security consulting, are you?"

Before I can answer, Mrs. Reyes enters with a tray of desserts, her voice breaking through our focused conversation.

"Why so serious? No business talk at family dinner!"

Later, I stand in the corner of the living room, back to the wall. Vanessa's cousins have pulled her into a heated discussion about some TV show, leaving me momentarily alone.

Kaela approaches Vanessa, pulling her slightly away from her cousins. Even their body language contrasts sharply. Kaela poised and still, Vanessa constantly in motion.

"So, Asher seems... intense," Kaela says loud enough for me to hear. "Pretty serious for someone you just met working on a 'computer project.'"

"It's not like that," Vanessa responds, fidgeting with her sleeve.

"Mom's impressed," Kaela continues, her voice softer. "Just make sure you know what you're doing, Nessa. You tend to jump in headfirst."

"Like you jumped into marriage with Peter?" Vanessa shoots back, then immediately looks guilty. "Sorry, Ate. That was a low blow."

Kaela's perfect posture stiffens further. "At least I finished college first."

Vanessa's shoulders hunch slightly, the barb landing exactly as intended. She breaks from the group and moves directly toward me. Without conscious thought, my arm wraps around her waist, securing her position.

"My mother's been analyzing your every move," she whispers, looking up at me. "Apparently, you passed inspection."

Something wild and territorial surges through my chest.

"Good. Because I'm not going anywhere." The words emerge with absolute certainty, matching the tactical conviction I usually reserve for combat declarations.

As we prepare to leave, Mrs. Reyes presses a large bag of food into my hands.

"For later," she insists. "Vanessa forgets to eat when she works."

I accept with a nod. "Thank you. I'll make sure she does."

Mr. Reyes gestures toward the front porch. "A moment, Asher?"

I follow him outside, positioning myself at the optimal distance for conversation while maintaining awareness of our surroundings.

He studies my face, seeming to search for something. Then, interestingly, he stops. Whatever he sees in my eyes appears to answer his unasked question. Instead of delivering the expected paternal warning, he simply nods.

"Take care of our girl. She needs someone who can match her intensity."

"Always," I respond without hesitation. The word carries the same weight as an oath of service.

Miguel approaches as I help Vanessa with her jacket, slipping something into my hand with practiced discretion. A flash drive.

"The medical data we discussed," he murmurs. "Thought it might help your... security work."

I pocket it with a slight nod of acknowledgment, already calculating how to integrate this information with our existing intelligence on Vertex Models and the trafficking operation.

As we make our way to the car, I realize something unexpected. While I was evaluating the tactical aspects of the Reyes family gathering, they were conducting their own assessment of me - and seeing far more than I intended to reveal about my feelings for Vanessa.

My possessiveness is becoming evident even to strangers. The observer in me knows I should moderate this behavior to maintain operational security. Yet I'm unwilling to do so.

The predator that's claimed her is satisfied that everyone can see she belongs to me.